


COUNTERPLAY

by sea_sighs



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Can we all agree that Laurent is a manipulative asshole, M/M, Makoto shouldn't be okay, Post-Case 4: Wizard of Far East
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_sighs/pseuds/sea_sighs
Summary: Death, Makoto supposes, is a moment you're never supposed to see coming. But Makoto sees it. He sees it crystal clear./This is not a love story.
Relationships: Edamura Makoto & Abigail Jones, Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	1. 4_10 - Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Years! I hope you enjoy.

Makoto absently picks at the corner of a travel-brochure, humming. Outside the sky is still dark. There are planes, taking off and landing by the minute. A collection of bright yellow, white and red dots, moving through space. They're audible, but only just, muffled through the thick panes of glass by gate twelve. Inside there is a sort of silence, the bare whir of the autowalk in the background, and ads talking to each other. Makoto looks around. He's the only one there.

He glances down at his phone. 

_4:18_

He sighs. _He should have booked direct._

His phone’s battery has been increasingly temperamental. Draining away as if to spite Makoto. Some part of Makoto imagines he deserves it. He sends it a mental _sorry_ for dropping into a cup of coffee by accident. It pings blearily from the charging port. An emerald green battery that reads 2%. _Fuck you too Makoto._

He presses the lock button to shut it off. The only entertainment he has is by his fingernail, the edge of the brochure, white and feathery now. He could people watch, further in the airport, but he isn’t in the mood to play psychological ping pong with Laurent. He already feels a headache coming on, pressing his tongue against his teeth, his ears pushing to the front of his nose.

The only solace is the small suited man in the pamphlet beckoning to enter the _Realm of Indonesia_ . His teeth is white, suit ill-fitting, there’s even small sweat patches under his arms. But it’s his smile that really sells it. It says _I’m miserable._ Makoto huffs and opens it.

He lets his eyes wash over the text on the next few pages. Temples and jungles and pristine beaches. His eyes catch on coffee. It’s printed in English, sans serif, slightly bolded, clean and chic. Makoto hums. Arabica roasts, organic independent farmers. _Bali blue moon._ The pain behind his nose twinges.

“Sir, are you okay?”

A uniformed woman in a soft mauve skirt and jacket, Singapore Air, Makoto distantly realises. The airline he was with. He goes to speak but before a word gets out, he reconsiders. He has a feeling that his headache is going to get a whole lot worse.

“Yes, thank you.” He replies, polite and with a smile, “Is something wrong with the flight?”

There’s a flash of confusion from her, then concern.

“You are waiting for a flight?”

There’s something endearing in that. Her slight accent, the inconsistent English. He still can’t decide if Laurent sent her or if she’s just collateral.

“AX390”

She winces. Discomfort, then a downturn of the lips. In the back of his mind, he already knows but wants to see how this plays out.

“Has it been cancelled?”

She shakes her head.

“Rescheduled?”

Again, a shake, a _no._ There’s a pause, “It’s left. An hour ago.”

Makoto huffs out a smile, not bothering to glance at his phone.

“Do you know when the next flight to Bali is?”

/

He's a little surprised that his cigarette flickers to life. The air is humid in Kintamani. Thick. Bearing down on his clothes. He half expects it to putter out in the next second, but it glows, yellow blooming into red. There’s a see-saw in Makoto’s head that tips between, _he should go,_ and _it’s too late now._ But it only takes a moment to rectify that. He closes his eyes and brings the cigarette to his lips.

The question really wasn’t _will he come,_ it’s _when. What hour? What moment?_ An insistent fly. Like Io's curse, predestined from the moment she was born and long after she died.

The sound of soft _clack clack clacks_ , bring Makoto back into the present. Footsteps in sandals.

Makoto takes a brief moment to go over the choices he's made to come to this moment.

 _Lakeview Restaurant & Café _ was an easy pick. Even without instincts, a person could see it for what it was, with what the English name. He had pictured it, in his head, what it would be like, to sit here in this very moment. 

He recalls the quiet satisfaction he felt, as he walked through the restaurant, as everything fell into place, an image so crystallised that he wonders if this is what Laurent and his father see every time they think of a con. A gaze, his gaze. Many gazing back.

The staff suck in the details. His soft linen shirt, peeled back to reveal a slightly sun-burnt chest. A gem-like watch peeking from under his cuff. His shoes mucked up with the climb, a pale blue nappa leather stained now with gley. And his slicked-back hair, coming loose under sweat. All of this, Makoto can tell, is tallied in their heads. 

He gave it a few seconds before asking for two outside seats, specifically on the balcony. They were ready to give him the world. 

He wonders if he was ever that eager.

The footsteps stop short of Makoto.

“My, my, you’ve grown”

And there it was. Half whisper-half drawl. Makoto cracks an eye open. Laurent in the carnal flesh. He’s wearing that same old _aloha_ shirt, pink with blue hibiscus. The pants are brand new, beige chinos that make your eyes slide off of them. And flip flops, pink, _childish_ , but that, Makoto expects, is the desired effect. To disarm, to appeal, to trust. Makoto’s eyes flick back to Laurent’s face.

His hair is only a little bit longer now, the atrocities That Were his sideburns hidden under a sweeping curtain of blond. He looks softer now, less spikes. More at ease. 

Something small in Makoto wants to grab the nearest glass and smash it across Laurent’s face.

Instead he sucks in his cigarette and feels a ghost of smile creep onto his face. He doesn’t stand up. No handshake or hug. Just a space and the look between them. They assess each other for another moment. Makoto wonders briefly what Laurent is thinking.

Laurent’s eyes dip into his shirt, the exposed skin there, down and down. Makoto hums and doesn't have to wonder anymore, half-amused. He pushes the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“The pamphlet was a nice touch."

Laurent smiles in a not quite admission, and takes a seat across from him.

“Edamura”

"Laurent"

A breeze caresses his cheek and stirs the air around them. For a moment all that is heard is the long soft sigh of leaves rustling.

Makoto has to admit, _Lakeview_ did deliver on the sights. Perched atop a plateau and practically nestled in the canopies, Makoto has a first-class seat to the valley beyond. The sun would be setting soon and Makoto can see it. The faintest pink in the sky. The way the sun would glaze the lake in orange, soaking the green of the land into brown and outlining Mt. Batur in gold. But for now there is only birdsong and insects chittering. Behind Makoto, the faint sound of plates stacked on plates, and the scent of lime leaf and smoke and ginger.

"What do you want?" Makoto says eventually. Laurent leans back on his seat, open and relaxed. Another smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Can't I see an old friend?"

"No." Makoto says simply. Exhaling. "Nothing is easy with you."

Laurent laughs then. It sends a faint prickle to Makoto’s skin, like the teeth of a comb pressed into his forearm. Makoto can’t linger on the feeling for too long, the food that he's ordered comes then. Dish after dish is placed on the table, a mix of steaming, savoury curries and aromatic roasts. The rice last to come, piled high on one of the plates. The food almost fills the table.

"Hungry?" Laurent's eyes twinkle.

A younger Makoto would have sworn and bristled against that look, that tone, the implication. 

"Yes" Makoto says instead, looking at him briefly before he smothers his cigarette. He tucks in.

They settle in a sort of silence. Not uncomfortable yet not quiet at ease. After a minute or so, Makoto looks up to find that Laurent hasn’t eaten at all, his gaze fixed on Makoto. He had forgotten about that. How dangerous Laurent could be with the gears in his head spinning.

If Abby was here, Makoto would bet that Laurent has at least three plans already going to get Makoto on board. Abby would roll her eyes and say _how stupid are you?_

Laurent smiles at him again. 

_C'mon Makoto,_ Abby echoes, in the back of his mind. If _you’re in front of him, he’s already got you._


	2. 5_1 - Pillar of Constantinople

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto makes a questionable life decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta'd yeet. Im a slow writer, hope u all enjoy!

**_five months ago._ **

_They’re in Toronto in the last week of Autumn. Average temperatures read at about “Too cold to go outside” and “See You Next Spring when they unthaw you”. It’s already snowing when Makoto and Abby leave the coffee shop. She’s swaddled in a long padded jacket that makes her look like a marshmallow. He says as much. The kick that comes smarts against his shin. He deserves it._

_“Are you going back to Japan?”_

_Makoto shakes his head.  
_

_“There’s still things... to do. People I have to talk to.”  
_

_Abby hums at that. He knows she doesn’t approve. It’s a big risk to come back into the fold, but Makoto is careful. He’s good. He could be better. But he’s good. It’s all a big part of forgiving himself._

_“So Asia.” She says carefully._

_Makoto smiles and nods. He can see her apprehension, the way she presses her lips ever so slightly, the flexing of her fingers around the air. Abby could probably outplay God in poker but it’s nice to know that she takes it easy on Makoto. She opens her mouth, about to speak but Makoto beats her to the punch._

_“I know.”_

_She blinks at him._

_“And you’re still going to go?”_

_Makoto shrugs, sucking the air through his teeth._

_“The only way you’re going to win is not seeing him at all. You know that right?”_

_He huffs, smiling “Who said I’m planning to win?"_

_// **now**_

“You’ve been busy,” Laurent says eventually. “I can only imagine what all that travelling could do to you”

There’s something expectant in him as he waits and waits and waits for it. For an answer, a rebuff, an admission. Anything at all to peer into Makoto. Figure him out. Makoto only nods in a way that doesn’t really answer anything at all. Laurent looks put out. Makoto doesn't buy it for one second.

"I've missed you, you know"

Makoto knows. He doesn't care. Eats a spoonful of rice just he can tell Laurent just that. The action makes Laurent laugh. Sparking something new in his eyes that Makoto decides is Not Good. It's just a tilt. Just a tilt, but Makoto can feel the conversation starting to unravel. He tries to walk the thought back, knowing that its better to be focused, but his skin on his arm prickles again. Laurent moves closer. The Something New looks like curiosity from a face like Laurent’s. Makoto knows better

__

“I thought I had saw Oz in Borneo” 

__

_ah,_ _there it was._ Blood scenting the air. Makoto swallows the rice.

"You must be mistaken."

Laurent hums and shakes his head. "No, I'm hardly ever wrong. Well except when it comes to you." He shoots Makoto a grin. Makoto narrows his eyes at Laurent. He expected Laurent to know, hoped he did. But nothing about Laurent seems satisfied with hitting it on the nail. Makoto can see it in the way he sits, in the way his hands hold his fork, in the easy lean of him. What comes next? Thats what sets Makoto on edge, skin pins and needles.

“I counted 16.”

“18” Makoto says sharply. “Was.”

__

Laurent blinks. Some part of him, dimming. He inclines his head.

__

“That’s unfortunate.”

__

It’s strange that that stills Laurent, people going, going, gone was practically an everyday occurrence in their profession. Was Makoto the exception? Makoto pre-Laurent would have raged, defensive and hurt. _Is that all you really have to say?! You heartless asshole!_ But his anger now is tightly pulled and bound underneath his skin. In the right light it practically shimmers. Now is not the right time for it. There was no point now. No way out. His head is dragging him back to what happened _._ A flash of a pan. Quickly as they go - _running, they’re running, they’re-_

__

“It’s fine.” Makoto says. Bites back the second I’m fine, winding the words tighter and tighter around himself. Makoto looks out. There’s a branch nearby, broken a little. He can see how it's splintered, how the inside is so much paler than the outside. Sharp and new and jagged. Drawing attention to itself.

There’s a _clink_ , followed by a few more, metal on ceramic. Laurent is putting things on his plate. The act is almost kind. Makoto wonders if half of it has to do with practiced charm, or maybe Laurent is uncomfortable at Makoto’s seeming discomfort. The food isn’t the best. 

__

Still.

__

Laurent eyes widen slightly as Makoto reaches over to stay his hand. A press of two fingers right to the bony part of Laurent’s wrist, barely a touch. Barely anything like an illusion, a mind trick, a misdirection. Confusion passes over Laurent’s face. Makoto tilts the fork. There. Spines that are almost translucent in the lamp light. Makoto didn’t realise they flicked them on. 

__

He quirks a brow at Makoto, setting the fork down with a soft smile. They’re even now. 

__

“I suppose, it’s only natural to be hungry doing the things that we do.” He says absently, then after a beat “I have to wonder... what did you do to make you this hungry”

__

Makoto should have let Laurent choke on that fish bone. 

__

“I didn’t eat breakfast,” he replies.

__

Another impulsive thought. His hand, around Laurent’s. More than just an illusion, a mind trick, a misdirection. Stopping his wrist, the moment. Stopping time. Makoto shakes the thoughts loose. He has to re-examine them later anyways. He begins eating again. They stay like that for a while, then-

__

“You can do more.”

__

Makoto wants to laugh. “Don’t patronise me, Laurent-”

__

“Arslan.” The way he says it, all cool and smooth like the surface of white marble. “He’s a trader of sorts”

__

_That would be like saying Suzaku ran a convenience store._ This time Makoto does laugh. Something bitter and sour. Laurent waits for him to stop. There’s something soft in his look though. Something that tugs on Makoto’s instinct. God, Makoto blinks, he was serious. That was why he was here.

__

Arslan, the patron of Istanbul and the arts. A monolinth in the arms Black Market, foundations reaching as far north as Moscow and as deep south as Khartoum. That Arslan. Makoto knew it was going to be bad. But this bad? Makoto has to bite his tongue from laughing. But there was no point in leaving. No point if you’re just gonna be ferried for the ride anyway, with even less information to start with.

__

“Okay” Makoto says.

__

Laurent blinks at him again. The surprise is there only for a split second. He wonders if he’s thrown Laurent off. Hopes that he had. 

__

“Okay” Laurent relaxes into a smile. After a beat he continues “His recent focus is on clean energy. Nuclear. And it just so happens that an elusive Japanese trader has what he needs. Your friend Yusef is familiar with Arslan, no? He could make the perfect introduction.”

Makoto blinks, then “It won’t work.”

“Oh modesty doesn’t suit you Edamame, not anymore.”

Makoto can feel the earth shift between them. Laurent doesn't know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know and he's made a blunder. Makoto blinks again. Then decides. Putting his utensils down, Makoto tugs his right cuff up. He can feel Laurent laser in on the detail. There it was his answer, standing out on tanned skin. A long pale white slug of a scar. Reddish now, the last few rays of sunlight edging out. Burning.

Like that, Makoto can see the shift in gears in Laurent’s face, cataloguing, re-framing, reworking. Makoto stays aloof. Afloat.

“Guess who gave it.”

“A parting gift.” Laurent mummurs, his hands reaching out almost to touch.

“You’re worse,” Makoto, pushes forward his arm for Laurent to take, “You're cruel. You know me."

Laurent whips his head up at that. There's a million things running through his head, Makoto can tell. He's is on the lightning edge of understanding.

“Makoto…” his brow furrows. Suzaku. Convenience store. Arslan.

"Tell me why Arslan deserves it."

In a strange way, Laurent looks open. Almost helpless. He isn't, Makoto has to remind himself, pinch himself if he has to. But then Laurent opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowing and barely audible.

"186" He seems to say it to himself.

Makoto nods as he closes his eyes. The sound of birdsong is still there, and there are people, talking, but its distant. Muted. Only now. Only two.

"188, you should have led with that" Makoto says quietly. When he opens his eyes, he can see that Laurent gets it.

"You already tried."

"Something like that."

Laurent is silent. Makoto wonders what he's thinking about. Does he think about how much he thinks Makoto wants it? How much Makoto will take the four jagged inches of his scar and turn it into miles and miles? Is he imagining Makoto getting himself killed because he just couldn't keep his emotions in check? There's accounts and checks and balances for Makoto in Laurent's head. A cost benefit analysis. The answer that will follow the silence will tell everything Makoto needs to know about the Laurent of now.

"You've already decided haven't you."

"Laurent we both know you decide whether I go or not." Makoto tacks on "You know me best. What do you think I'll do if I get another chance?"

Laurent purses his lips to a line. The sun is blinking out, sky turning into a deeper blue.

"We'll see." The words have the same sound of a church bell in Makoto's head. A wedding. A death knell. The same admission not admission. "I'll be leaving next week. Pera Palace, Istanbul."

He goes to stand but Makoto won't let him. He grabs Laurent's wrist. Looks him dead in the eye and wonders if Laurent can see it. Can see what's underneath Makoto's skin. Makoto has to ask-

“Is that all?”

“Would it not be?”

Makoto exhales through his nose, asks “Why am I not there already?”

There's a beat, then.

“I thought you died” Laurent says, reluctant.

Its a close of an admission that Laurent gives. Doesn't look like much, but it is; its monumental. For Laurent to stop just to see him, just to make sure. But Makoto can't leave it alone, can't leave it just where it stands. Inch. Mile.

"Don’t tell me are you worried about me?"

__

"Now who is cruel-"

__

"You’re not." Makoto cuts in, "You aren't worried. You’re ready to throw me to Arslan."

"Edamame."

He stands. The skin on his palm is burning. He needs to know he needs to know he needs to-

__

"Do you feel guilty?"

__

Laurent looks as frozen as he can be, which is to say not frozen at all. He's got years of practice of keeping his head cool. But there's silence. _Hardly ever wrong,_ _except when it comes to you_. There's silence and that's enough. Makoto drops his hand.

"I talk to Abby you know." There it was again that impulsive thought, wanting, hoping that time could stop and that it wouldn't move forward and Makoto's mouth wouldn't open as it opens again, "You always want to fix things, make things better, but it's pathetic. I could have stayed in hidden to know that."

Laurent looks away, "Why didn’t you?"

__

Makoto blows a raspberry, "Same reason as you. To let you know I'm alive." Then he adds, because he can't Shut Up, "Damage control. We both know how bad something like that could end up. You wouldn't believe it unless I was shot in front of you and even then you would blame somebody else for it. To make sense of it. You're not a hero Laurent. None of us are."

__

He waves to a waiter, and asks for the bill. When he gets it, he presses it to Laurent's chest, "Thanks for paying. I also ordered dessert. Got it for you."

Makoto leaves without looking back.

//

At 4 am in the morning he gets a ping from Abby.

**A:** That was mean. Funny. But mean.

She's attached what Makoto assumes Laurent has sent her. It's a mountain of gilded _es capur._ Everything, even the shaved ice to the nata is covered in gold foil. Even with the the price gouging for a man as special as Laurent, Makoto expects that he barely made a dent to his wallet. It served more as a reminder for Laurent on how exactly Makoto feels about him. A tastless, petty _screw you,_ without saying it. He texts back, half blind with the light.

**M:** Deserves it.

He can see her speech bubble writing, but he doesn't have any more energy to unpack it. He flicks off his phone and goes back to sleep.

He dreams of Dorothy, in full technicolour, what she might have been like if he knew her. If it would make things better. Makoto dreams of diving into the ocean and never coming back up again.

//

He books a flight for Istanbul in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Team Con will go brrr next chapter I promise!! So much time was spent on creating a believeable dialogue so sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting!! im a slow writer!! pls give me that good good constructive criticism!! I would love to hear your thoughts! I want to make a story that you all enjoy!


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